


The Bakery

by Ertal77



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bakery AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ertal77/pseuds/Ertal77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson passes every day in front of an elegant bakery when heading to the hospital he is working as a Medical Resident. The day comes when he can't tell any more if he is more attracted by the variety and delicacy of the cakes in the shop window or by the handsome baker who runs the shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bakery

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [La pastelería](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857218) by [Ertal77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ertal77/pseuds/Ertal77). 



The variety in colors and textures in the shop front almost made John’s head spin. Apple strudels, banana loafs, oreo layer cakes… It was too much for John. But even then he kept glued to the bakery showcase, same as every day.

That kind of Garden of Earthly Delights was very close to the hospital where John worked as a Medical Resident, so he couldn’t help to see it, even if only in the corner of his eye, every time he came in or out from work… and to be honest, no matter how exhausted he was, often after a twelve hours shift in the ER, his attention always got caught. By the shop front. Of course it was the shop front, what else could it be? John said to himself that what attracted him was the color combination and the variety of icings, although at the same time the fact of seeing so many cakes together made his stomach clench in repulsion. But it was better to admit he had realized he had a dangerous addiction to sugar than the other option: confess to himself that those seconds in which he stopped every day to ogle the bakery owner behind the counter, at the other side of the glass, were what gave him strength to cope with the exhaustion and the stress of those fateful months of training.

It all started some weeks after he started working at the hospital. He hadn’t even noticed the bakery before, too busy chattering with his colleagues or with his head in the clouds. But one morning he left by the ER door, dragging his feet, after a night shift that ended being long and tense, and he let his eyes wander by the muffins and cupcakes, until they locked, inadvertently, with the baker’s eyes, who was watching him from behind the counter. Their eyes crossed their paths and got anchored in each other’s, until the baker addressed him a knowing smile and John felt the man was reading his very soul. He ran away, full of dread, and he needed all his strength of will to look at the shop the next day. Those grey eyes and that smile had invaded his dreams completely, not giving him a single break, but he couldn’t retain the image of the baker’s face, so fast had everything been. That day the man was serving some customers, so John could watch him to his heart content. He was a young man, at least three or four years younger than John, perhaps more, and John wondered if the baker was perhaps an employee or the owner’s son. But the proud smile he wore while showing the cakes told John the confectionery was his own creation and he wasn’t there just for selling. He was attractive, tall and smart, with brownish curls falling in a perfect cascade over his forehead and temples, and nice but chiseled facial features. A face difficult to forget. John wondered if the young man took profit of his physical attractive to flirt with the female customers and raise his sales. It wasn’t a crazy idea, seeing how the two ladies whom he was serving laughed cheerily… At that very moment, the baker raised his eyes and stared back at him, and for a second John stood there, frozen, unable to react, until that mischievous smile came back to the full lips of the baker, and the young doctor felt panic settling down and his feet started moving without his consent. When he realized he had actually moved, John was already at the hospital’s main door.

As the weeks and months went by, John learned to react better when the baker caught him watching him saucily from the street. It didn’t happen always; most of the times the young man was busy and didn’t notice John’s presence, and then the doctor simply stared at him for a couple of minutes, pretending to study the cakes in the showcase, and afterwards he left smiling to himself. When instead the baker raised his glance and found John’s eyes focused on him, a light of recognition lit his face, and the small grin almost always found its place on his features, along with a soft nod that John interpreted as a greeting.

Soon that smile and those grey eyes started to appear in the daydreams of the young doctor, every time he felt too exhausted to keep on going, when around him everything seemed to have turned into screams, into blood, into death. That stranger and his tiny nod of a greeting were a lighthouse to get anchored when the rest of his motivation began to be too faded to work anymore. It wasn’t as if John fantasized about him; after all, he wasn’t someone far away and out of reach, right? John could step in the bakery and talk to the stranger the moment he wished to.  But even though he told himself that, he kept preferring to watch the delicious goods of the bakery from the outside.

John needed almost three months to gather the courage to finally enter the shop.

The young baker turned to face him with a well practiced smile and a greeting in his lips, but he became speechless when he saw who it was at the door. After a moment of shock, the young man regained his composure and cast his usual knowing smile, along with a glint of amusement in his grey eyes.

“Good morning!” he greeted him, and his voice was deeper than John expected, making the knot in his stomach grip him harder. “I’m glad you have decided to taste our products at last. How can I help you?”

There was a certain mocking tone in his voice, and that fitted perfectly with the mental image John had formed of him. Unable to hold his sharp gaze, the young doctor pretended to inspect the pastries on the counter. Éclairs, afghans, brownies. Icings, fondants, cream. Again he felt his head spinning before the sweet explosion in front of him, and when his eyes focused at last in the price tags beside every exquisite piece of bakery, squeamishness found the knot in his stomach and turned it into a sailor double knot. He tried to remember the exact content of his purse, but he doubted he could afford any of those pastries.

“Hmmm… Do you sell tea, don’t you?”

The baker nodded, with obvious disappointment on his face.

“Tea and coffee”, he confirmed.

“Then I’ll have a tea. With milk, please.”

John sat down in one of the two small wrought iron tables in the shop, happy to not having to keep asking his legs to hold him, and a couple of minutes later the young man brought him his tea, frowning. John watched him covertly from the table, enjoying of every new expression he discovered on the man’s face, of the elegant movements of his long hands while wrapping a package of pastries for another customer, of the effect of the vibration of his voice in his own stomach.

He came back inside the next day, feeling less awkward. The baker’s lips pulled up in a crooked grin at greeting him, and his glance had a new nuance that John couldn’t name.

“I’m glad you have come back! Given that yesterday any of my cakes seemed to please you, today let me recommend you the day’s special”. The young man made a flourish gesture with his elegant hand and pointed towards a delicacy placed on a tartlet liner. “Italian meringue with redcurrants! Fresh from the oven and made with the best quality ingredients.”

John barely took a peek at them.

“Thank you, aaaaaah… Actually, I’m not a great fan of sweet food. I’ll have a tea with milk.

The frustrated glare the baker casted at John was worth seeing. John felt bad, but there was no way he could afford paying almost four pounds for a pastry. The seventy-five pence of his tea were the most he could spend in a superfluous daily expense. So he sat again on the same spot as the previous day to enjoy his tea while he cast sidelong glances at the attractive baker.

The next day, the young man offered him a cheesecake brownie, and the next a bourbon biscuit. Their exchange of insistent offers and kind rejections became soon a routine. It didn’t matter how tempting or delicious the cake looked, John always rejected it with a smile and went to sit with his tea. And although he felt a little guilty, John had to admit he enjoyed the look of suppressed rage on the young baker’s face every time one of his creations was turned down.

During the next weeks, and although John didn’t dare to talk to him, he learned a lot of things about the baker just watching his interactions with the rest of customers. To begin with, his name was Sherlock, and the shop was indeed his. He made his cakes every morning, with his assistant; John guessed that they worked at dawn, because when the shop opened its doors, at the usual commercial time, the shop front and the counter were packed with delicacies. He was a perfectionist, a tireless hard worker, and he always knew what to say to prompt a smile (and a sale) in his customers. He also knew what kind of pastry would please his usual customers the most. They asked him blindly for “something sweet”, leaving the choice to him. It should be frustrating for Sherlock that John always refused to taste anything, the doctor thought. Perhaps he could afford a piece of cake from time to time… In the end he decided that he would buy one as soon as he got paid, only to give Sherlock a little joy.

Because it was doubtless that he owed Sherlock at least that small satisfaction. The baker had no idea of how grateful John was. Since he had been brave enough to enter the shop and got to know Sherlock, John’s days and nights were plagued with Sherlock, as a balm for his stressing existence. Every single moment he was able to let his mind fly free and rest, there it was Sherlock. He imagined his manly voice on his ear, his breath on his neck, those long and elegant fingers running through his body… and suddenly his clothes seemed to tighten over his too hot skin, and the ceiling seemed too low for his head. John realized he couldn’t ever remember how many months had passed since the last time he had a shug, needless to say a girlfriend. Not that in those moments he had the time or the energies for a girlfriend, or a boyfriend if it was the case, but perhaps… if he found the right person he could make the effort.

That day he stepped into the bakery absentminded, minding his own business (basically trying to remember the face of his latest girlfriend, without much success), and ordered his usual tea without noticing that someone was missing in his daily interaction. He realized about it when he noticed Sherlock’s shadow looming over his table. He raised his eyes and there he was, with the usual tea mug in one hand, and a saucer in the other. To his surprise, Sherlock placed both things carefully on the table, and proceeded to sit down on the closest chair to John with graceful and feline movements. John stared at him, dumbfounded, as if the baker had grown a second head.

“I’m well aware that the second day you said you don’t like sweets”, Sherlock whispered before John could react, “but it’s quite obvious that’s not true, since you add two full spoonfuls of sugar to your tea, besides the milk… So after watching you during these weeks, the only conclusion I can reach is that you can’t afford buying my cakes, despite being a doctor. I know resident doctors don’t get paid a lot, but I imagine there must be a logical explanation to the fact that you can’t even buy pastries. This one is on the house. Please, taste it.

John made an effort to react and lower his eyes to the saucer Sherlock had placed on the table: it was a small square cake with an orange fruit layered on top, and it had a delicate and careful look, as every delicacy made by Sherlock. As he kept staring at the cake, Sherlock sighed and took the little spoon that came with the saucer, breaking and picking up a bit of dough and fruit.

“For God’s sake… Open your mouth”. Before John realized what Sherlock wanted to do, the spoon was touching his lips, and he opened his mouth by instinct. The spoon sat on his tongue gently, depositing its sweet content and leaving. “It’s a plums quiche. Is it good?”

John savored the remains of the explosion of pleasure on his tongue for some seconds. Without a doubt, it was one of the best cakes he had tasted in his life, and he found himself licking his lips without noticing, chasing the taste. Sherlock laughed softly and took another spoonful. John opened his mouth without complaint, but as soon as he swallowed he realized all of a sudden of how ridiculous he must be looking to anyone who saw him. He looked around, concerned.

“Relax, there’s no one here: I have already hung the “closed” sign on the door; it’s already past seven”. Sherlock’s voice was calm, but it was clear that he was amused by that situation.

“Aaaah… thank you. You are very kind, but I can eat on my own.”

John took the spoon from Sherlock’s hand and plunged it again in the cake, with his mouth watering of anticipation. Each little bit of dough, each piece of fruit, each marmalade drop was an exquisiteness to his palate. So much he enjoyed the quiche that he was barely conscious of Sherlock’s amused eyes observing him closely, with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hand.

“Thank goodness you didn’t like sweet things…” he commented, mocking, seeing the frustrated expression of John’s face when he saw his cake was finished.

“Oh, leave it already, will you?”

“I’m glad to be right, about the cake and about the reason you don’t buy my pastries… If now you would be so kind to confirm my suspicion about your economical situation is caused by gambling debts is unfounded, I would be most glad.”

At hearing those words, John, who was already blushing from embarrassment, was directly horrified and answered without thinking.

“Oh, no, of course it’s not that! I like gambling, but I don’t usually bet money. It’s just that my father passed away last year, and since then the business he ran with my mother is on the verge of bankruptcy, so I send my mother half my salary.”

Sherlock leaned back on the chair, clearly pleased.

“I must say I’m relieved”, he said.

John raised an eyebrow.

“What for?”

“Because it means that there’s no reason to not accept you a date.”

The young doctor choked on his own saliva.

“What?! Who has talked about asking you to a date?”

The baker laughed, pleased, and stood up, starting to walk toward the back shop.

“You, of course, since the first time you gawked looking at me from the street”. He stopped to look at John from the door’s frame, with a naughty grin and a suggestive eyebrow movement. “Or did you pretend to keep on watching but without daring to taste, like with the cakes?”

John’s brain, luckily, decided to wake up at last and react to the obvious hint, and the young doctor needed less than a second to follow Sherlock through the back shop door, grinning.


End file.
